Secrecy
by The Irish Lass
Summary: In which the Avengers are terrible at arranging meeting places and keeping their cover.


Mary Margaret has been working in this diner for the past 17 years. It was the first and only job that she had ever had, and that suited her just fine.

The diner was located in Queens, and was decorated to feel vintage and had a fifties vibe that most people only experienced by watching the first Back to the Future movie, or seeing their grandparent's photo albums. While the diner had, in fact, been built in the nineties, anyone who set foot in the door would immediately feel as if though they had been transported to the past. Between the neon lights, the waitresses' uniforms, and the menu they offered, you could almost swear you were back 60 years into your grandmother's stories.

Mary Margaret loved it here. It felt like home. And it was better than her crappy apartment, so she tried to spend as much time in the diner as possible. So, it seemed, did one of the regulars.

He was a solidly built man, who rode a motorcycle and wore a brown leather jacket. But he didn't feel dangerous. Maybe it was the carefully combed blonde hair, or his penchant to call everyone Ma'am and sir, or maybe it was the way that he just seemed to fit into the décor. As if he had come from the past just to sit there.

Mary Margaret liked seeing him. He must have been a history major in college, because he would talk to her about the twenties, thirties, and part of World War Two. But that's where his knowledge seemed to end. He must have been a specialist of some sort, because he was always bringing books that focused on the twentieth century.

But he was nice, and polite, something you came to appreciate when you had worked as a waitress from the age of sixteen. Sometimes she wondered about him. He talked about a personal life, and didn't wear a wedding ring, despite the fact that he was handsome enough that he should have herds of girls trailing him. And maybe some guys. Who was she to judge?

But he seemed happy to stop in every day and hang around for a couple of hours during the slowest time of day, and read and talk. She could appreciate that. Every once in a while he'd disappear for stretches of time, only to return with a smile and a "How do you do, ma'am?", and some healing scratches and bruises. But hell, there were all kinds of people in New York.

There were other people in the diner who stood out. There was a man with scarred, trembling hands, who was always dressed as if though he was off to some nerd convention. He would sit with the other man, and they would discuss in low tones, although they always fell silent when she came to refill the tea and coffee cups. She eventually learned that they were Steve Rogers and Doctor Stephen Strange. Although what they could be forever discussing was beyond her. Maybe they had been history majors together?

Later, a couple began to come. The woman had flaming red hair that seemed to be a different style every time she came in, and the man was always staring around, as if waiting for an attack. He also drank coffee by the pot. They always sat together, and sometimes, Steve would come to sit by them.

A quiet doctor and a tall, loud man with long blond hair started to join them for lunch. While the tall one seemed disappointed at first that there was no beer served in the establishment, he made his peace with it, drinking milkshakes almost as fast as his friend downed coffee. He was a point of interest, not least because he was called Thor.

And they all talked. Files spread out around them, papers held in Strange's quivering hands, or intensely studied by the other doctor, or the coffee drinker making spit balls and flicking them at everyone else while Steve tried to maintain order.

Mary Margaret had to wonder what they did together. Steve couldn't be a history professor. Maybe they were secret agents? She laughed at her own silliness. What kind of spies would meet in a fifties remake diner? Bad ones.

Year 17 of working at the diner rolled into year 18. She learned their names. Natasha, Bruce, Clint. They were uniformly polite, and left large tips for the use of the booths for several hours at a time. Although whenever Thor was joined them, she received a strange silver coin that probably wasn't worth much, but she kept anyway. She was saving now, for college, helped by the tips that were only increasing as the odd group met for longer periods of time. Maybe she could get an associates degree in business and become a manager of the diner.

Eventually, a high school kid joined the meetings. He was short and adorable in his eagerness to fit in. He was usually typing away on some crappy old laptop, and she suspected that he brought homework with him. He drank enough coffee to rival Clint, and talked about science with Doctors Strange and Bruce Banner. She only charge him for half the coffee he drank, knowing somehow that he couldn't really afford to be there, but wanted to be part of the group. Her tips mysteriously began to make up the difference.

Still, she didn't put together who the group was until Tony Stark showed up.

Everyone, whether they lived in New York or not, knew who Tony Stark was. The owner of the Avengers Tower, Iron Man, and inventor extraordinaire all at once, he was also a key component of the Avengers Team.

He strolled into the diner one day, and looked around. His eyes immediately lighted upon the group, and he strode towards them to stand by the table, hands in his pockets as he surveyed the group.

"Mr. Stark!" The kid burst out, starting to stand up and causing an avalanche of paper to shift dangerously before Natasha caught it.

"I'm hurt." Mr. Stark placed a hand over his heart and pulled a chair over to the booth. Well, the table that Thor had sat against the booth so that the whole group could fit. "Secret meetings?"

Steve raised an eyebrow, apparently unimpressed with the billionaire's antics. "It's hardly a secret. Vision told you about them months ago."

"Okay, first, how did you know about that? And second, it doesn't change the fact that you didn't tell me, Captain Tight-ass."

Steve shrugged. "You'd figure it out. They all did."

Mary Margaret decided that this was the time to bring over another coffee cup and a fresh pot, which would no doubt be emptied before all the refills were made.

"Stop whining." Clint rolled his eyes even as he held out his mug. "Or else Banner won't tell you about the infinity stone."

"The _what_?" Doctor Strange (she could never call him anything else, not even in her mind) burst out.

"We didn't mention that?" Natasha asked.

"I was getting there." Bruce sniffed.

"It was next on the list." The kid, Peter, put in meekly.

"Well then. By all means." Doctor Strange waved a hand.

And it suddenly clicked in Mary Margaret's mind. They weren't spies. They were the Avengers. The Avengers had been meeting in her diner to discuss missions the whole time.

She had met the Avengers. And didn't even realize it.

Thor smiled at her kindly, and asked if there were any more Strawberries to put in his milkshake. Peter was excitedly talking about some algorithm to Stark, and Steve was putting away papers into a bag.

Well.

They may be heroes, but even heroes still need coffee and milkshakes. And this is one hell of a thing to add to her resume: Served the Avengers for a year and a half. Ha. That should tip her chances for manager.


End file.
